Read e-book online At the Bureau of Divine Music PDF

By Michael Heffernan

ISBN-10: 0814335101

ISBN-13: 9780814335109

A considerate and stylish assortment from complete puppy Michael Heffernan.

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Sample text

The tea things on the trays know why these people steal in from white skies cursorily breaking gray above the torpor they behold and bear. Nothing of what they found by the lakeside or in the little pinewood trembling there in specks of shine and shadow offers them much they can name or note before they rise. Someone all wan immediacy is peering through the beveled pane above the window seat on the garden side of the drawing room at the monkey puzzle by the folly the patriarch had built to show the locals what a great treat Attic architecture could be to look at in the wintertime— and the first snowflake actually falls.

I mentioned that to someone once at a dinner party on the Île Saint Louis. She folded her serviette like a nun’s, bowed to excuse herself, and stepped outside. 43 Geometric Euclid became my savior in tenth grade, the year the Jesuits wanted me a priest. They sent me to Manresa in Birmingham and put me in a room with a radiator that knocked all night to keep me up for prayer, nothing for breakfast, not a thing for lunch, and barley soup and Wonder bread for supper. It was no wonder then that Euclid cried out of this darkness of mortification in a squared circle with a human face that set me right about four equal lines drawn from a radius the square root of , this being God as Dante painted Him, and good enough for me to believe in in place of hellfire and my going there, because, as I recall, that square was purple, a color I can see, though color blind, as I have been since the wet grass was red after a rain when I was four years old.

His dreadfulness abounds. The fat woman has died laughing. Her table screams. The Second World War is over and we all scream. I seem to be looking around me fearfully. 51 Ancient Fathers The town poet and the village idiot met for lunch on the terrace at the Café de la Gare. They both were having the soup & salad bar. “My wife is in Paris,” the town poet wept, “visiting one of her Algerians. ” The idiot had brought along his dog, to pick up bits of lettuce from the table. The dog liked salad. He was an idiot too.

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At the Bureau of Divine Music by Michael Heffernan


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